Road Full of Promise
by Erzsebeth Bathory
Summary: Charles' time spent in the Dutch van der Linde gang taught him that there was always a path for everyone, regardless of age, sex, and color. During his travel to Canada, he makes a discovery which takes him on a journey he didn't quite imagine happening, at least not in THIS manner. Can he take on this new responsibility without endangering himself in the process?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** Here we go, my first multi-chapter story in ages for any fandom. I say "multi" when it's only three chapters total, but it's more than my typical one-shots. Anyhow, this is focused on Charles Smith, a fantastic character from RDR2 and it takes place after the events of the main game. Please let me know what you think!

* * *

**_Midnight_**

**_Autum_**

**_1907_**

* * *

She hid under the bed for hours. At one point she fell asleep, but when she came to, she could still hear someone downstairs. She didn't know who they were or what they looked like. All she knew that it was a person who came on horseback. She was too frightened to see what they were up to. It might be the Bad Man.

_Hide, _Mama's voice whispered fearfully in her mind._ No matter what, it's better to hide. You'll be safer this way._

She often wondered what happened to her family. Mama, Papa, her brothers-they have been gone for so long. The last thing Mama told her to do was to close her eyes and cover her ears before being pushed under the bed. Even with covered ears, she heard muffled screaming. Lots and lots of screaming. And then it was quiet. It remained quiet for a long, long time. She wanted to listen to Mama and stay hidden, but she soon had to go to the bathroom and she was hungry. The fear of being discovered kept her from leaving sooner, but ultimately, she had no choice but go out.

During the day, she waited until the hunger pangs twisted the insides of her belly before she ventured around the homestead in search of berries and plants to eat. Long ago, Papa taught her what foods outside were safe to eat. She kept herself as small as possible so that she wouldn't be seen. She was too afraid to wander away from the house and she didn't know where she was, only that it was nowhere near her home.

Days passed, but she wasn't sure how many exactly. She prayed she would one day see her family again. Any one of them would have made her happy and safe.

Strangers sometimes did stumble upon the house in search of shelter or goods to steal, but they wouldn't find much of anything. Any time they came indoors, she would scurry back to her hiding spot until they went away. They never looked under the bed. Even after so long, she could still remember the day Papa took the family to this house to hide from the Bad Man. He promised they would all be safe here.

The floor creaked just behind the bedroom door. She curled up on the floor and tucked her knees to her chest. Squeezing her eyes shut, she wished that whoever was outside the room would leave.

The knob turned and she let out a whimper of fear.

* * *

Charles Smith pushed the door open and held up his lit lantern. Like the rest of the neglected home he explored, this room had been picked through and ransacked, with everything else covered in dust, cobwebs, and old memories.

He didn't expect to find much on his way to Canada. Not that he was in a hurry to get there, because there wasn't anybody in particular waiting for him—only his dream of starting a new life with a family. His plan was to simply gather supplies along his journey and take it day by day. Moving west and crossing the border of West Elizabeth, he would soon go north from there on out. A brief stop at this neglected house offered his mount some time to rest while he searched for anything worth taking. There was no such luck here.

As he turned to leave, he heard a tiny sound.

_"Achoo!"_

In a flash, the lantern was placed on the floor and Charles had one of his throwing knives in hand. He stepped back and narrowed his eyes. Once more he searched the room, this time trying to pick out any sign of movement. His ears opened up to any more noise made. Like a hunter, he was seeking prey.

A sniffle was heard from the bed.

Charles charged forth, grabbed one of the brass bed posts, and yanked it back with all of his might. His knife was raised and ready to be thrown when he immediately stopped himself.

A child, no older than five or six years old was on the floor curled up in a tight ball. Black hair matted her round face and her skin was the color of tan. She was nowhere near as dark as him, but enough for her to possibly be Native American or Mexican. He knew he shouldn't assume anything right away—going by personal experience of others judging him and assuming he was one race or another.

Charles eased his stance a bit but he didn't lower his guard entirely. He wanted to make sure this wasn't a trap, so he exited the room and searched the rest of the floor, and after a few minutes of finding nothing, he returned. By then, the girl was sitting up. The fabric of her plainly woven dress was dirty and soiled, and she wore no shoes. She sat in a way that reminded him of a discarded doll that its owner no longer wanted to play with: sad and lifeless. She dipped forward and her head drooped.

"Hey," he greeted softly as he put away his knife and knelt to the ground. He kept his voice low in fear of scaring her. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

The little girl sniffled and used the back of her hand to wipe at her nose. Ever so slowly, she lifted her head from her chest. Charles saw nothing but absolute despair and bleakness in her wide set eyes, like she'd lost everything. He only knew that feeling all too well.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached into his pocket and withdrew an apple. He held it out to her and when she didn't take it right away, he placed it on the ground. Ever so carefully, he stood up and backed out of the room. The lantern was left for her as he went downstairs.

* * *

She held back tears of frustration. Mama told her to hide, and she tried so hard to do so. She had no idea the man would find her. If the dust hadn't tickled her nose, she wouldn't have sneezed. If she didn't sneeze, he wouldn't have found her… but then she wouldn't have food.

Her mouth watered with anticipation. How long had it been since had an apple? Mama would cut hers into slices that she happily devoured. She didn't have a knife to cut her own apple, but it didn't matter. Instead, she scrambled for the fruit and quickly devoured it.

The apple was crisp and delicious. It was the first real piece of food she ate in a long time. It was much better than whatever she could find outside. While sitting on the floor, she thought about the man who found her. He was big, much bigger than Papa, but unlike Papa, he was younger looking, too. In fact, he was just a bit older than her oldest brother. When he gave her the apple, it was the first time she experienced any true courage since she and her family had to run away. This nice man wasn't like the Bad Man who chased after her family. This man didn't want to hurt her.

The apple core was toss to the side and she sighed in relief. After allowing her tummy to settle, she crawled over to the lantern where it continued to glow bright. Picking it up by the handle, she steadily rose to her feet and decided to see where the nice man went.

_Hide,_ her mother's voice warned her.

She paused outside of the room, and she heard the voice again, but it was fainter this time. Biting down on her lower lip, she searched for the nice man while quietly apologizing to her mama. She wanted to obey, but she desperately didn't want to be alone anymore, either.

* * *

Charles stood outside on the porch when he heard footsteps. Slipping back into the dark house, he saw a glow emerge from upstairs. From where he stationed himself, he watched as the little girl made her way down the stairs with the lantern. She stared at him the entire time, as if trying to figure out what his intentions were. He was certain she had quite the story to tell—that was, if she wanted to talk. He wasn't going to force her to speak unless it was necessary. While there had been no intention of taking care of anybody other than Falmouth on his way out of the country, he wasn't heartless. He couldn't leave a child all alone.

The little girl now stood in front of Charles and as she held the lantern up in order to see his face. She was such a petite and delicate creature that a breeze could knock her over. Fresh tears had streamed down her dirt-stained cheeks. Her shoulders shook and a sob racked through her body. It was bad enough that she nearly dropped the lantern.

Charles stepped forward, got down to her level, and carefully pulled her into his arms. She collapsed against him and cried hard, marking his shirt with her tears. Whatever happened to the child, she'd been keeping all of her emotions bottled up. Who knew how long she was here all by herself or what she'd seen and gone through?

After taking the lantern back, he put out the light, picked up the girl with ease, and carried her out of the house over to where his horse was hitched. The night air was gloomy and shrouded by the on-approaching storm.

"We're going someplace safe," he promised the girl. His voice was soothing enough to get her to peel her face from his shoulder and nod stiffly, acknowledging that she understood him. After making sure the saddle was secure, Charles place her on the horse where he then climbed up and sat behind her. From his saddle bag, he pulled out an extra shirt and placed it over the girl's shoulders. It was huge, easily a blanket for her, and it would offer her some warmth and protection from the elements until they reached safety.

They rode off just as it began to sprinkle. While Charles traveled along the roads at night, he preferred to keep to the shadows as much as possible, which almost rendered him invisible. Ever since he bid farewell to the Marstons, he did his best to maintain a low profile. He wasn't ignorant of his name being listed in the newspapers nor the fact that he was still considered "at large." A part of him wished he had further questioned John's decision to purchase property in the very area that not even ten years ago their old gang became notorious for, due to that botched robbery at Blackwater. Yet John wanted to do whatever it took to have Abigail and Jack come back into his life and he wanted to prove to them that he wasn't a failure. Charles couldn't condemn someone who wanted to prove their love and loyalty to their family. That last thought alone made him think of everyone who became lost over time due to their loyalty to a man they all cared for and respected, and who gradually escalated into madness. Love could be a very dangerous weapon to use on anyone.

Charles offered the child another piece of food, this time some bread. She happily munched on it while allowing her tiny hand to rest over Charles' large one as he held the reins. The girl was comfortable with him. It was hard to believe how small she was. The only other child he'd been around had been Jack, and that was years ago. When he first joined the gang, Jack was barely four years old. For a time, Jack was a new generation for their group, a symbol of hope.

Looking ahead, Charles wondered if this little one had any future of her own to look forward to.


	2. Chapter 2

Under the pre-dawn skies, Charles pulled the freshly cooked meat away from the fire and blew on it a few times. Then he handed the stick to his new companion and advised her to wait for it to cool before biting into it.

"You don't wanna burn your tongue," he advised, to which the little girl nodded in agreement. He smiled some before he took out a knife and impaled a piece of meat on it so he could cook his own food.

Their campsite was set up near a stream and against couple of huge boulders so they couldn't easily be seen. The only way anybody would spot them was if they came from across the water. Charles always made sure he wouldn't be caught off guard, whether he was alone or with someone else.

The storm long since passed and while they didn't come across any settlement, they would rest at a makeshift camp. The little girl remained quiet but also well behaved. During the ride, she stared at everything they passed, as if it was the first time she was exposed to this region. He didn't ask her any questions, though he would point out different trees and animals they would come across and talk about them, and she seemed to take an interest in what he said. She was keen to learn.

After the food was settled in their bellies, he broke the ice.

"My name is Charles. What's your name?"

The little girl, who now sat with her knees to her chest, lifted her gaze from the fire and onto his face. She cracked a smile and wiggled her toes in the grass.

"… Marianne."

"Marianne. How old are you?"

She held up all five fingers on one hand. Charles nodded internally, but he was surprised when she held up three more fingers. Eight? She was tiny for a girl her age. Then again, she undoubtedly survived a harrowing lifestyle where eating a meal was a luxury, not a basic necessity.

"Do you have a family?"

Her eyes drifted downcast. He didn't push her for an answer, and he waited patiently until she was ready to speak on.

"Yeah, um, I have… Mama. Papa. _Kuya—_"

She gasped and pressed her forehead against her knees. Charles was alarmed by this abrupt gesture.

"Marianne, what's wrong?"

"_Brother_," she said in a stressed tone, this time in English, while keeping her face hidden. "Mama. Papa, BROTHER. Two brothers."

Charles wasn't sure what language she accidentally slipped into, but he suspected this was one of the reasons why she was forced to hide.

"It's okay, Marianne," he assured her. "You can talk in your language if you want. Your English is very good."

Marianne carefully lifted her face and stared at him in awe, as if she couldn't believe how kind he was to someone like her. Someone who was _different_ like her.

"My father was black and my mother was Indian," Charles disclosed. "What about you?"

"My papa… he is white," Marianne stated carefully. "My mama is from… from The Philippines."

Charles was far from the only one to come from two different races, but finding another like himself, especially one so young, was rare. Most biracial folk preferred to hide away in fear of scrutiny, or they strongly identified with one race or the other, while hiding their true heritage all together.

"Where's your family, Marianne?"

A haunting gleam shone from her eyes, and Charles apologized.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"The Bad Man," she confessed in a hushed tone. "He… I think he took them away and hurt them."

Charles' face hardened. "Why do you think that?"

Marianne struggled to not cry. "Because… Because our family, we… we don't look like everyone else…"

_Because you aren't all white,_ he thought angrily. He heard it all before. Up until he was recruited into Dutch's gang, he kept away from most white people. Many of them didn't want anything to do with him, and if they did, they treated him like he was beneath their feet. Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, John… all of them (not Micah, **_never_** him) treated him with human decency. He was even pleasantly surprised when he saw that the gang had black people working alongside everyone else. It was the first time Charles felt like an actual person among others.

"Mama told me to… to hide," Marianne went on in a shaky voice. "S-She wanted me to hide… no matter what… so I wouldn't be caught by the Bad Man. I'm s-scared that because I'm… I'm not hiding anymore that h-he'll find me. Mama… She also said to speak only English… because it'll make it hard for the Bad Man to find us… but…"

She squeezed her eyes closed. "He **_still_** found us and now he's going to find me next!"

Tears burst forth and she once again pressed her face into her knees where she sobbed. Charles leaned over and placed a comforting hand over her head. Never had he come upon anyone so fragile and fearful who was forced to fend for themselves in this unforgiving world. This innocent child had a monster stalking her simply because of her heritage, something she had no control over.

"Marianne," he spoke to her over her crying, "this monster is going to have to get through me first, and you know what? He will not get his hands on you."

Marianne's head shot up and she gaped with huge wet eyes.

"He's… He's scary, though!" she whimpered.

His next words were intimidating and full of venom. "Trust me, Marianne, he won't know 'scary' until he's met me." When Marianne remained silent, he went on. "For now, you're staying with me. I won't let anything happen to you." Charles briefly paused before he asked, "Is that okay with you? Do you want to stay with me?"

Marianne nodded without hesitation. "Don't leave me," she urged tearfully.

"Never."

* * *

When Marianne awoke the following morning, Charles wanted to purchase new clothes for her. He had some extra money saved from the last bunch of pelts he sold at the trapper's shop. Pelts deemed in good to perfect conditions earned him the most money, and so he would use it on Marianne. Before taking their leave, he had her wash herself in the stream.

They discovered a bustling ranch just a few miles north from their meadow campsite. There were clusters of houses spread across the property along with a huge barn, pens for holding animals, a blacksmith, and even a general store. Charles rode up to the store and dismounted from Falmouth. After hitching his horse, he carefully removed Marianna, but instead of putting her on the ground, he carried her inside.

A heavy-set fellow stood behind the counter and as soon as Charles walked in, he greeted him.

"Hello, sir. How can I…"

His voice trailed off as he noticed the barefoot little girl being carried in this big man's arms.

"… help you?"

Marianne said nothing as she clung to Charles and rested her head against the crook of his neck.

"Do you sell children's clothing here?" Charles asked, ignoring the stranger's critical stare. He was used to it, but he didn't want Marianne uncomfortable.

The clerk snapped out of his daze and fetched the store's catalogue, where he thumbed through the pages until he found the appropriate section. Seeing as how he was going to earn a profit if he kept his judgements to himself, he readily assisted Charles with fitting Marianne with brand new clothes. The girl was mildly confused but excited at the same time as she saw herself wearing an assortment of dresses and lace-up leather boots. Charles made sure that the dresses would provide purpose and flexibility, but just about everything Marianne tried on, she expressed eagerness and joy.

As she stood in front of the full-length mirror and patted the fresh white apron in front of her dress, she looked up at Charles and asked, "I get to keep this?"

He nodded and her entire face lit up in response.

"Ohhh!" She once again gazed at her reflection and beamed. "I look like a grown-up lady!"

The shopping was ultimately wrapped up, and both Charles and Marianne left the general store. Marianne's outfits along with other supplies purchased were placed in the saddle bag. It was bloated with everything needed for the journey to Canada and then some. From the corner of his eye, he watched as the child happily danced around in her new dress. It was the first time she was full of life instead of fear. It brought a sense of peace to him, a sense of purpose.

"Marianne," he called out to the child.

She stopped after a series of pirouettes and turned to Charles.

"Ready to go back to camp?"

She nodded eagerly and asked, "Can we have some more meat? A little burnt like how you did it last time. I liked that."

He chuckled and held out his hand to her. "Anything you want."

* * *

During the journey back, Charles sensed that something was amiss. The air was warm but moist. Another storm was most likely upon them, but that wasn't what made him uneasy. It was as if a pair of eyes were upon him, watching his every move.

"Charles, can I… I want to hold the reins, please?" Marianne asked.

Charles shushed her and advised her to keep her head down. This clearly brought on confusion.

"What…?"

"Do it."

Marianne bit her lower lip but obediently did as she was instructed.

Shots rang out and a couple of bullets whizzed across the air between Charles and Falmouth's neck. The horse reared. Charles cursed and struggled to keep his weight forward and centered, while also keeping a hold on both the reins and Marianne. Whoever was shooting at them was persistent. The pandemonium startled Falmouth enough to make it buck both Charles and Marianne off.

Marianne screamed. Charles held her to his chest and twisted his body so that when he fell to the ground, he landed on his back and absorbed the brunt of the fall. Falmouth galloped away; it wouldn't go far, just far enough away to distance itself from danger. Unfortunately, it left Charles and Marianne alone on the side of the road.

The frightened little girl trembled even as she was pressed against Charles' burly chest, but then her blood turned cold when she heard a familiar voice greet her.

"I knew it wouldn't take me long to find you, little mutt."

Charles was already seething, but when he heard such a derogatory term used on Marianne, it took everything he had not to lunge at the son of a bitch. He had to be careful not to expose the child to any further danger. His knives which were hidden in his pockets, but he needed to wait for the right moment to use them. He cautiously sat up, ignoring the ache in his back, and he saw their attacker for the first time as the dust around them settled.

An unshaven man with a pockmarked face and a stocky build similar to Charles' stood on the other side of the road where he aimed a rifle at them. Cold gray eyes under bushy brows studied them both before he ordered them to get up.

"Looks like I got two for the price of one," the man crowed. "Was looking for the little one for a while, but to find her in your company, sir… You realize how famous you are?" He spat crudely on the ground. "A filthy half-breed aligned with one of the members of the Dutch van der Linde gang? My, my, this world has gone to shit. Quality control is the reason why your group whittled down to nothing. Should've kept it all clean and white."

Charles tried to pull Marianne off of him so he could place her behind him, but she wouldn't let go. Her fingers dug tight into his shirt and she was scared stiff. If the bigot hadn't opened his mouth, her actions alone would have more than convinced him that this was the Bad Man who took her family away.

"Where's the girl's family?" Charles asked.

"Doesn't matter," the man curtly replied. "You let me pick her off, I'll spare you, because you see…"

As he prattled on, Charles whispered to Marianne.

"Do you trust me?"

The little girl whispered back ruefully, "Y-Yes…"

"I gave you my promise. I won't leave you."

"Okay…"

"Whatever you do, don't look."

The man finished with, "… and take you right to the federal prison myself. We all know how dangerous and reckless bounty hunters can be with their captures. Figure I'll cut out the middle man and do the work myself."

Charles instructed Marianne to let go of him, which she reluctantly agreed to do. Her fingers remained curled as she was placed on the ground behind him. After squatting, she hid her face in her fists so that she didn't look at the Bad Man.

The gunman took his shot at where Charles stood, but the bullet bounced off the well-trodden trail. Charles had thrown himself to the side, rolled along the dirt, and sprang to his feet with a fistful of dust in his hand. He leapt forward and threw the dust into the gunman's eyes. The man cried out as he was momentarily blinded. The rifle was knocked out of his possession and a loaded fist clocked him square across the jaw. Charles struck him again in the face and then delivered swift kicks to both the shins, which toppled him over like a chopped tree. A knife was pulled out and with deadly precision, he used it to pin the man's shirt collar to the ground beneath him.

Charles was on top of him and he used his weight to keep him down. Grabbing him by the neck, he held his fist over his face, ready to unleash another well-deserved bash.

"Where is the girl's family?" he demanded.

The Bad Man's face was bruised and bloodied. Still visibly impaired due to the dust, tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

"Told you… doesn't matter…" he replied in a strained voice. "They're dead. What's… what's the point of leaving filth like that living? They're wrong!"

Charles fought to keep his breathing level. "What people do with their lives when it comes to starting families, falling love—it's none of your damn business!"

He socked the man's face, this time breaking his nose. Blood oozed out of his nostrils and he let out a strangled cry.

"Mixing… it's not right, dammit! Whites… stay with whites… Indians with Indians-!"

Charles refused to listen to any more. With every punch delivered, he hammered in his own point across.

"None."

_Punch._

"Of."

_Punch._

"Your."

_Punch._

**_"Business!"_**

Charles climbed off of the gunman's chest and he stood tall over his crippled form. The Bad Man couldn't harm a fly at this point. He undoubtedly took pleasure in hunting down innocent people who didn't even think to look twice at him, until he forced himself into their lives. His own twisted beliefs drove him to believe he was above them all. Judging by his actions alone, there was no changing his views on non-whites or whites who wanted to mingled with other people of color—there was no redemption for him.

The Bad Man proceeded to choke on his own blood as it seeped down his own throat. Charles turned his back on him and went over to where he left Marianne.

The little girl was nowhere in sight.


	3. Chapter 3

"Marianne!"

Charles bolted to where he last left the girl, fearing she was shot, but found nothing, not even a trace of blood. He charged through the bushes and pushed his way through whatever branches and undergrowth that were in his way. His heart thumped madly in his chest as he fought against surges of panic. It usually wasn't like him to get worked up. He needed to focus and search for possible footprints. Be calm and alert.

A horse nickered nearby. Relief instantly claimed Charles and he didn't hesitate to follow the sound. In no time he discovered Falmouth and Marianne together amongst an orchard of trees. The child was holding Falmouth's rein between her small digits as she stood next to the proud Nokota. There was still some hesitation and dread evident on the girl's face but on the surface, she didn't appear hurt.

"It's over," Charles said to her. Saying such words verbally brought much needed reprieve for himself. "He won't hurt you anymore." He wiped the blood from his knuckles before he took Falmouth's reins into his possession. He led his small group back to the main trail, where he brought it upon himself to make sure that the man he killed was indeed dead. The last thing he needed was the gunman to make a miraculous recovery and seek revenge. Charles looted the corpse for anything that could be of use. To his surprise he uncovered a folded piece of paper in a pocket. It was a map of the local area with towns and individuals whose names were crossed out.

Marianne's name was at the bottom of this list and it remained the only one not marked.

He crushed the paper with one hand and threw it back over to the body. He walked over to the child and knelt down in front of her. As he checked her over once more, he asked her, "Are you okay?"

Marianne's eyes went bug-eyed when she saw the blood splatter on his shirt. She countered with, "But um, are… are _you_ okay?"

He couldn't help but smile some. Despite not having traveled that long together, her concern for him was considerate.

"I'm fine, Marianne."

The child sighed deeply and confessed, "I was scared… but you told me you wouldn't leave me, so… so I, um, I went to look for Falmouth and… we stayed together."

His smile deepened. She was young, but she knew well enough not to run away in a panic. "Good."

Charles picked her up and placed her on the saddle. The trio soon departed from the scene, just in case other travelers came upon the sight and got the wrong idea of what happened. After some thought, Charles wanted to attempt to locate Marianne's family—or what was left of them. Going by the dead man's note, he didn't expect any sort of happy reunion, but it would put himself and Marianne at ease knowing what exactly took place. He didn't let Marianne in on his exact plans, but only said that they would move on. She accepted this without question.

Using his tracking skills, Charles picked up the trail of the Bad Man's horse. It led them to a familiar path which backtracked to the old house where he first found Marianne. The sight of the house alone drove the child to a panic.

"Wha… W-Why are we here?" she asked in a panicky voice.

"Just passing by," he swore. "You aren't going back there. You're with me, remember?"

Marianne sniffled back tears in relief. "Yes… Okay…"

And just like that, the old house was behind them. Charles patted her backside, an attempt to console her. Marianne said nothing, but she leaned back against him and gazed at her surroundings in content. They traveled along a path that delivered them to a heavily forested area. The landscape twisted and turned, becoming darker, rugged, and cold. It was a far cry from the relatively flat meadows they had camped at. Their journey took a pause as Charles and Marianne dismounted Falmouth in order to put on warmer clothes. Marianne was in good spirits because she now got to wear her new bonnet, cape, and mittens. Charles donned a heavy coat and gloves. By the time they continued their journey, everyone's breaths could be seen in the air.

Charles' attention dared not falter. The temperature continued to drop but he refused to allow any more surprises to catch him off guard. By nightfall, they stumbled upon a one-story cabin located at the bottom of a hill of what appeared to be a dried-up pond. Crude plywood covered the windows and there were bullet holes dotted along the walls. Leaning against one side of the house was a shovel, firewood, and hatchets. Lots, and LOTS of hatchets.

Falmouth was guided away from the view of the cabin and over to a gnarled, withered tree. After being hitched, Charles dismounted and brought Marianne down with him.

"I need you to hide as best as you can," he instructed. He reached into his boot and pulled out a knife. Taking her little hand, he had her carefully clasp the handle. "I'm going to see what's in that house. If there's any danger out here, Falmouth will let me know. Otherwise, you make sure that you can't be seen. I'll whistle when I come back. Now, real quick."

He showed her how to properly hold the knife and how to use it if she absolutely had to. It brought back memories to when his mother taught him how to handle a stone knife around the same age as Marianne. It was natural for children in his mother's tribe to learn how to protect themselves early on.

As Charles spoke to her, Marianne prayed nothing would happen to him. He took good care of her and she wanted him to come back safe.

"I'll hide good," she promised once the lesson was over, and she disappeared into some scrubs.

Charles wasn't thrilled about leaving Marianne all alone, but he didn't know what he would be going up against. Bringing her to the cabin with him could prove fatal for them both. He retrieved his rifle and a tomahawk before he crept down to the dried pond.

Despite the windows being blocked, the front door was fine—until he tried to open it. He pushed against it and pulled the knob, only to be met with resistance both ways. It was jammed from the inside.

Nothing was ever as easy as it seemed. He stalked around the house, moving as if he walked on air, until he reached the backside. What he saw next drained the color from his face.

Blood-soaked and muddied bodies, all naked, lay askew on top of one another: men, women, and children. Some were white, but most were black, Indian, Asian, and mixed race. Every single one of them had hatchet blows to the skulls. A couple of them had numerous stab wounds on their necks, chest, and limbs. Streams of blood seeped from the bodies and over to the cabin itself.

One thing was for certain to Charles Smith in that not one of these people deserved such gruesome fates.

A twig snapped, followed by the brush of a boot against the earth. Charles spun around and held up his tomahawk in time to parry the swing of a hatchet. The blow was so swift and sudden that it made his teeth rattle in his skull. He stepped back with a howl and avoided another hatchet swing. The two-hatchet wielding maniac, with beady black eyes and thick arms, bore animosity which threatened to burn holes into Charles. Without saying a word, the demented man attacked again.

Charles lifted his gun to fire, but the bladed man proved astonishingly fast in spite of his lumbering size. He knocked Charles' gun out of his hand and followed with a swing of his blade. Charles ducked, then threw his entire weight into the other man. The two massive bodies collided to the ground, like two male grizzlies fighting for territory. The fall caused both hatchets to slip from the man's grasp. Punches and jabs were traded with one another. Strings of curses cut through the crisp night air. With a huff and blood running down the corner of his lip, Charles drove an elbow into his attacker's throat and he heard bone crunch.

If the situation hadn't turned into a fight for his life, Charles would have preferred to get more information out of this man. How was he associated with the first murderer? Why did they truly feel they needed to kill all of these innocent people? Did they have any more victims that weren't on that list? Charles knew he wasn't going to get any of his questions answered. Seeing as how this man was more than willing to chop him to pieces on sight, there was only one way to deal with an intolerant lunatic like this.

Charles got back to his feet and so did his attacker even with the malicious beating he received that would have left most men crippled. It was as if this man was being energized with a sickness fueled by madness. There was no time to think, and Charles' tomahawk was driven deep into the man's throat. Blood spurted out and Charles swung again, this time burying the blade into the man's forehead. The instigator staggered back a couple of feet before collapsing to the ground alongside his unfortunate victims. After a couple of deep breaths, Charles marched over, ripped his tomahawk out of the corpse, and used his foot to kick the carcass away from the others. That monster didn't deserve to be anywhere near those he and his partner hurt.

Wiping his blade clean and gathering his bearings, Charles retrieved his rifle. He slipped into the house through the backdoor where his accoster had emerged from.

The pungent smell of death battered his nostrils the moment he set foot inside. It was nearly pitch black since the windows were boarded up, but Charles pushed the door wide open to allow the moonlight to shine some light within. Damaged corpses were piled in one corner of the house, all of them marked by hatchet wounds to the skulls. Newspapers were stacked on top of a stained cot along with crude drawings of maps. The killers were unquestionably tracking their victims. Charles' suspicions were confirmed when he grabbed one of the papers and saw that it was opened to a particular article. A reporter wrote about the mysterious killings of colored families. Local authorities didn't seem to be in any hurry to solve the alarming number of murders that occurred in the area. If no all-white families were involved, there was no sense of urgency. In disgust, Charles ripped up the article.

Side tables and dressers were searched thoroughly before being knocked over. Charles found nothing of use, other than some moonshine. There was no carefully laid out plan, no rhyme or reason for any of it to have happened. It all boiled down to crazy racists who felt the need to hunt down and mercilessly slaughter innocent families. Mothers, fathers, their children, aunts, uncles, friends, neighbors… None were safe.

With the moonshine in hand, Charles stormed out of the house and made his way back to where Marianne and Falmouth were. He gave out a low whistle, where it wasn't long before Marianne peered out of her hiding spot.

"We'll be leaving soon," he said as he searched his saddle bag for the items he needed. In a matter of minutes, he was able to create a couple fire bottles. He could see Marianne watching him from behind the bushes, but when all was said and done, he ordered her back into hiding. He swiftly returned to the cabin, where he dragged the murderer back indoors. A fire bottle was lit, tossed inside, and the door was slammed shut. Flames erupted and proceeded to eat away at everything they touched.

Outside, the moonshine was poured over the pile of human remains. Once soaked, a couple of fire bottles were put to use. Fire cleansed the body and freed the spirit. Even with the abuse these people suffered in life, the fire would guide their spirits to freedom and ultimately peace.

More men came out of the trees. There were three of them, all with unkempt clothing and unrestrained loathing. Two carried hatchets and the third handled a pistol. Charles went for the gunman first. Agile and armed with reflexes like a cat, Charles hurled his tomahawk as he darted to the side. The blade sunk into the gunman's chest, killing him instantly. Charles rolled along the ground and reached for one of his knives nestled in his loose clothing. On his feet, he avoided a hatchet blow to the stomach when one of the men charged him. In response, he buried the knife into his attacker's skull. Two down. Shit! Where was the third one?

He searched about the smoldering pyramid of dead bodies and even around the burning cabin. No sign of the man.

A high-pitched neigh came from Falmouth and it was followed by Marianne's ear-piercing scream.

"No!" Charles hissed as he raced back to the others. Blood pounded in his ears. He pushed himself as hard as he could to make it back in time.

The third man was next to Falmouth whom he had by the reins. The distressed horse raised itself up in a panic. Falmouth was struck against the side of its head with the blunt part of the hatchet. Like the others, the man's eyes were blackened with rage and the muscles beneath his face was skintight that his flesh actually creased.

Marianne shrieked as she ran up to the man's calf and swung the knife Charles gave her. She tearfully screamed, "Leave him alone!"

Blood oozed out of the wound this child caused. He released his hold over Falmouth but as he viciously grabbed Marianne by her bonnet and started to choke her, Charles didn't hesitate with what he had to do next.

His rifle was leveled, and with a single pull of the trigger, a bullet pierced the man's temple, killing him instantly.

Crimson rain drizzled over the bushes. The dead man tipped over and Charles snatched Marianne away. She'd dropped her knife and was shaking like a leaf. Some of the madman's blood had dashed on her face and clothes. Other than the crackling fire that burned through skin and wood at the bottom of the pond, an eerie silence fell over the forest.

No sign of Marianne's family. Dead men scattered about. Innocent lives snuffed out long before their prime. It was senseless madness. There was nothing left to gain by being here any longer.

Charles checked over Falmouth. While bruised from the man's strike, his horse was otherwise alright, if not a bit shaken, much like Marianne. Charles felt some wetness on the bottom of Marianne's dress. He feared that she'd been hurt and was bleeding, but a quick inspection put his fears to rest. It wasn't blood, but she had wet herself out of fright. She was so terrified that she'd gone into shock.

Apologizing to her wouldn't be enough. He couldn't exactly leave her anywhere else, either. Who would take care of someone like her? It would be a miracle to find someone open-minded to take in a half-white half-Asian child and not treat her like a slave. Someone like Dutch, just minus the landslide into corruption and insanity. Where could she truly be "safe?"

Charles couldn't even remember leaving the forest. On horseback, he left behind the dead and the fire pit. Marianne hadn't said a word but she clung to him as if her very life depended on it. He thought about how he hadn't been that much older than her when he willingly left his father, whom had fallen prey to the bottle. Marianne's family had been ripped away from her, much like his mother had been—but unlike her, he had his father for some time after. If she had any kind of home to return to, there was no point taking her back to it. There was no more family waiting for her. If there were, she would have mentioned them earlier. The girl had nobody… Except him.

The future was uncertain, and he wanted to believe that he eliminated all of those crazed bastards. Would there be others from that same group who would come after them? To seek revenge and finish the job their fallen comrades could not? With his own name listed in the newspaper as still being "at large," he couldn't risk sticking around. He would continue his journey north, only this time, it wouldn't be just him and Falmouth.

* * *

In the days and weeks that followed, nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Charles had grieved over the countless lives taken away from this earth, while Marianne grieved over not knowing what happened to her family. Deep down, Charles was certain that her mother, father, and brothers were buried within the grim pile behind the cabin. Marianne was also recovering from the shock of witnessing a man being killed right before her very eyes. The whole ordeal kept her much quieter than usual. While she maintained a normal enough appetite, she wasn't up for talking. Charles didn't force anything upon her, understanding how traumatizing it was to having gone through what she had. Yet as young and small as she was, she would only become stronger over time. He sensed she had a tough, frontier spirit about her, and he would make sure to help her properly develop it.

As the sun gradually set, they were prepared to cross the state line. Charles handed the reins to Marianne and said, "You take the lead."

She tilted her head up and stared in awe at him.

He gave a sturdy nod. "You'll have to learn some time soon. I might need you to ride Falmouth by yourself, and someday, we'll get you your own horse."

Marianne broke out with a smile and a happy gleam in her eyes.

Charles ruffled the top of his new daughter's head before he helped her navigate them into new territory.

* * *

**Author's note:** And that is a wrap! I had a lot of fun writing this. I always envisioned Charles to be such a natural father-figure. This was just my vision of how he'd start his own family. Could there be other additions to his fold? Most likely, but for now, this was the start of his new future. Thank you to everyone who've taken the time to read this story and leave likes/kudos/comments!


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